Pulled
by DancingHeartBeats
Summary: A series of stories; pulled into heartbreak, pulled into darkness, pulled into the ashes of their past.
1. Chapter 1

Bella:

1

It was getting cold and she didn't give two shits. Not at all, she wanted to take it all in, everything that had just happened. She wanted to absorb it like a sponge absorbs water. Soak it all in, until she's filled with lust, anger and mostly desire. Desire for what, you may ask? Well, desire to love him back until she can't breathe. Desire to hate him until she can't feel a thing. Numb, numb, numb, and give her more of those drugs, please. Breathe, breathe, and breathe, take in that air, polluted with the ashes of her past. Don't give her a break, give her life, and give her hope. She needs it; she craves it, she wants' to go back. Make it all right; fix the mistakes she stepped on with her boots. Spikes into his heart, bleed, bleed, bleed for her. She whispers to the dark, "honey, I can't feel a thing." She falls back onto the hard cold floor. She doesn't feel a thing, only her heart beating fast, no; wait, slowly, slow, slow. Crawl, fall, put's her hand onto the leg of the wooden table. Lifts herself up, pulling, scratching, "honey, help me." He doesn't answer. No need, he's with her, in pain, on the floor, in the pitch dark, in the pitch dark, in the blackness of the night, the moon shining through. The moon, a full moon, help her, help her, please.


	2. Chapter 2

Edward

1

He thinks about her, night and day. He thinks of her while he's typing away, the keyboard is crocked. He smiles tightly, reminds him of her. "I hate that keyboard!" she would scream from the other room. He writes about her, being lovely and all.

She's so lovely, he takes a deep breath, and he needs to get over this obsession, this need, this want. He stops typing…her name on his fingertips, her name staring back at him on the computer screen. He types about her hair, nice and somewhat brittle if she washed it. He liked it though, different from the rest.

Different, different, different, he writes about that. How different they were, but how they fit together like a lock and key. He held the key she was the lock, he made the decisions, she tried to keep him out. She gave him the key, a long time ago, he took it greedily. Thinking of the power, power, power, he has with the key.

Hungry, his stomach rumbles, and last time he ate? He can't remember, he only writes now. He expresses his thoughts, of their differences. He much lighter than she. Their story defeating everything coming their way. Their story, crumbling against societies beliefs.

She was honey, she was caramel, and she was his sweet thing during the hot summer days. Honey in his sweet tea, she filled the glass. He pulled her close. "My, my, my, sweet thing." He whispers into her ear. She giggles, that sweet giggle, she laughs and pushes him. He pulls her to his chest; he revels in the closeness, hoping this won't be the last. My, my, my sweet thing.


	3. Chapter 3

Bella:

1

Maybe, she thought, maybe I should call him? She pondered upon this for hours. She wondered if he was writing again. Typing his soul onto the computer screen, hopefully, about her. She shook that though out of her head as soon as if appeared. She wanted him to need her, but she couldn't make him do the things he would have to do.

She walked to the table holding all of her medicine. She felt that she didn't want to take it… she didn't want to deal with all the consequences. Stages later she won't be able to do anything. Only lay in bed… like a degenerate.

She watched the sun come up. She didn't sleep at all last night. She thought, thought, thought, about how wonderful he was. Then she realized…maybe she made a mistake. A terrible one.

She walked slowly, to his apartment building. She rang the buzzer. She rang it again. Then she knew, he was writing. Immersing himself into his own world he would build with the computer. Hopefully, he's writing about me. She thought of all his other novels. All about women, his encounters, his failures, their heartbreak. This one, she knew would be different. Completely different, because instead of him breaking the hearts, she broke his.

It was for him though; she didn't want him to be held back. Go write that novel, make a masterpiece, she told him once. He shook his head; he wouldn't write a novel if she was sick. So, she did what she thought was best. A horrible thing, but it was what was best for him.

She rang again, finally he answered, "Hello?" he sounded tired, worn down. She took a deep breath, breathing in everything around her. "Ed." He only let her call him that, after years of fighting of course.

"Bell?" he whispered.


End file.
